


to anyone who's listening

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Drunken Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While David is away on his mission, Cook leaves him a drunken voicemail. David reacts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to anyone who's listening

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely [spikedluv](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv) and I decided to challenge ourselves to completing a fic of 1500-2500 words based on one of the tropes we shared on our trope_bingo cards. Clearly I failed spectacularly at conforming to the word limit (Is anyone surprised by this? No?) The trope in question: ‘In Vino Veritas/Drunk Fic.’ Hope you enjoy!

It’s late by the time David makes it to his room. His bags are piled in the corner, and he rifles through one for a shirt and sleep pants to change into before collapsing on his bed. For a moment he just lays there, listening to the house settling around him, the muffled voices of his mother and siblings as they say goodnight to each other and head to their rooms. He soaks up those sounds like a sponge, grateful to be able to hear them again. He’s _missed_ his family, the occasional letter and phone call not enough to ease the ache of being so far away from them all for two long years.  
  
He turns onto his back, letting out a long breath. He’s exhausted from traveling and from spending the afternoon with his family, celebrating his return, but he’s not ready for sleep, not yet.  
  
Struck with an idea, he fumbles on his night stand for his phone. He’d noticed earlier that his voicemail inbox was full; he’d planned on canceling his service before he left, but his sisters had begged him not to, just in case.  
  
Just in case of what, he’d never known, but as he brings his phone to his ear and plays the first message, received just a few days after he’d left for Chile, he realizes why they’d insisted.  
  
“ _Davey!_ ” Amber’s and Jazzy’s voices ring down the line, and David smiles as they break into various renditions of “ _We miss you already!_ ” and “ _Don’t forget to write us or we’ll hack your Twitter again, don’t think we don’t know how!_ ”  
  
There are a few more messages from them, individually and together, as well as a few from his mother and other siblings. Claudia’s nearly leaves him in tears, his mother’s even more so, both of them telling him how proud they are of him, for following his heart, for being brave enough to take that risk. Even the lone message left by his brother, a few seconds long and nothing more than a simple, “ _Miss you, bro. See you at home_ ,” sets his eyes to brimming, and he turns on his side with a watery laugh, wondering if any of them know that he’s doing this now, listening to the messages they’d left him so long ago, wanting to let him know that he was loved, and missed.  
  
His fingers curl into the comforter as he listens to the next message, the first one not left by a family member, but from someone intimately familiar just the same.  
  
“ _Hey, Archie_ ,” Cook’s voice rumbles across the line; unbidden, David’s lips curl into a smile, warmth blooming in his chest as the rocker’s voice washes over him. “ _Before you start thinking I’ve lost my mind, no, I haven’t forgotten that you’re about a million miles away right now_.” He laughs a little, and David presses the phone against his ear, unconsciously trying to chase that sound. “ _I just wanted to say – save some time on your schedule for me when you get back, okay? I’m gonna miss you like hell, Arch, you know? Look me up when you get home_.”  
  
The recording ends. David draws his phone away from his ear, a familiar ache in his chest as he saves the message. He thinks of the texts he and Cook had shared earlier that day. The rocker had made him promise that a visit was in order once David had gotten settled back in at home, and David smiles as he imagines seeing him again, how Cook would probably wrap him in one of his full-bodied hugs and lift him off the ground, like he usually did whenever they hadn’t seen each other in a while.  
  
He listens to the remaining messages, left by other family members and friends. Each one brings a smile to his lips, until he’s warm and sleepy and content, on the verge of drifting off to sleep.  
  
Cook’s number comes up once more, though, and David shakes off his drowsiness as he settles in to listen.  
  
“ _Hey, Arch_.” Cook’s voice sounds different from his first message; it’s thicker somehow, a little slurred, like Cook’s had too much to drink. “ _It’s me. Uh, Cook. Though you prob’ly already knew that. I – shit –_ “ There’s the sound of stumbling, followed by Cook’s muffled curses, and David grins a little. Definitely drunk.  
  
“ _I’m a – a fuckin’ idiot, Arch_ ,” Cook continues, and David’s smile slips off his face. There’s a sadness in Cook’s voice that he doesn’t like. “ _I keep tellin’… telling myself that it was for the best, that I was doing the right thing by keeping my mouth shut, but. Christ_.” Rustling echoes over the line, followed by Cook’s heavy breath. “ _It was just me being a coward, Arch. Too chickenshit to tell you that I always – that I’ve always – **Fuck**_.”  
  
David jumps at the curse, curling his fingers over his chest. His heart is pounding.  
  
“ _I can’t stop thinking about you, Archie. **David**. Should have told you before you left, should have fucking **done** something. Feel so fuckin’ – so pathetic, Archie. I keep picking up the phone, wanting to hear your voice, wanting to tell you, and then I remember… _ “ His voice trails off, and David holds his breath, like he’s trying to will Cook to keep going, to say whatever it is he keeps dancing around.  
  
“ _I’m in love with you_ ,” Cook says, sighing out the words like they’ve been sitting there on the tip of his tongue for ages. “ _For years, I’ve been – I’ve wanted to tell you. Did you know that? Did you have any idea, Archie? How fucking gone I am over you?_ ” More rustling, followed by a sigh and a muffled groan, like Cook’s covered his face with his hand. “ _Christ, I’m sorry, Archie. I should have told you. Even if it wouldn’t have made a difference, I should have told you. I should have –_ “  
  
The recording cuts off, leaving David to stare blankly at the opposite wall as it switches over to another message. He doesn’t hear it, his mind buzzing with Cook’s voice, Cook’s words, repeating like a mantra, over and over again in his head: _I’m in love with you_. **I’m in love with you**.  
  
  
  
He’s distracted through the next day, lost in his own head. His family gives him space, probably think he’s still trying to acclimate to being home, and that’s part of it, but –  
  
He can’t get Cook’s voice out of his head.  
  
He’s always – felt more for Cook than he should. He’d accepted that fact long ago, just as he’d accepted that nothing would come of it. Cook was his friend, his best friend, and if David sometimes felt a little flushed or tongue-tied in his presence, if there were moments when he found the rocker’s eyes or smile or lips a little, um, distracting, well… No one ever needed to know, and David had become a pro at stuffing those thoughts into the back of his mind, never to see the light of day.  
  
Cook’s message destroys every last lock holding those thoughts at bay. Suddenly it’s all David can think about, and he combs obsessively through every interaction between them, every hug, every smile, wondering when Cook had stopped looking at him as a friend and started looking at him like… like…  
  
_I’m in love with you_.  
  
Oh gosh.  
  
He listens to the message again, notices that Cook had sent it nearly a year after David left on his mission, and his stomach shrinks into a tight little ball as he wonders – does Cook still feel the same way? He’d never given anything away back then, never given David any indication that he wanted anything other than friendship from him, so how was he supposed to know if Cook still felt that way now?  
  
The only way he can think to find out – to really know for sure – is to ask Cook himself. Even the thought sets his pulse to racing, his palms turning clammy as he imagines standing in front of Cook, asking him that question – _Do you love me? Still?_  
  
What if Cook doesn’t even remember sending that message? It’s a possibility, considering he was obviously drunk when he sent it.  
  
Still, David knows he can’t just ignore it.  
  
  
  
He lasts a week before he breaks. Cook’s in L.A., filming his stint as a mentor on Idol’s new season, and David books a plane ticket before he has a chance to talk himself out of it. It’s harder to call Cook – he wants to come up with an excuse for why he suddenly needs to be in L.A., but as soon as he hears Cook’s voice – for the first time in two years – he forgets all of his carefully constructed bluffs.  
  
“I want to see you,” he says, and, before he can freak out about _that_ , “I finally have all this free time on my hands. Gotta take advantage, right?” His voice sounds far bolder than he feels, but it seems to pay off. Cook laughs, all fond and amused, and tells him, “You’re on, Archuleta. We can hang out after the taping, yeah? Make a whole weekend of it.”  
  
David’s mother protests when he tells her his plans. “You just got home!” she says, exasperated, but can tell by the look on his face that his mind’s made up. She sighs, fond acceptance on her face, and presses a kiss to his brow before sending him off to the airport, telling him to, “Send our love to David, yes?”  
  
He spends the entirety of the flight and the cab ride to Cook’s hotel practicing what he’ll say once he sees Cook, until he’s memorized every carefully constructed word. The clerk hands over the key card to Cook’s room with no fuss, clearly having expected him, and David rides the elevator to the fifth floor with his clammy hands stuffed into his pockets, thankful that Cook won’t be back for a little while and he’ll have the chance to freshen up.  
  
One of Cook’s jackets is thrown over the unmade bed, a pair of pointy cowboy boots tucked by the sofa in the sitting area, and David pauses in the doorway, taking in the faint traces of something masculine and spicy, Cook’s cologne and hotel soap and the familiar bite of cinnamon gum in the air.  
  
His chest _aches_ as he takes in the familiar scents, and he ducks into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, staring at his wide eyes in the mirror over the sink.  
  
_You’ll be fine_ , he thinks, quickly making use of the facilities and washing his hands, forcing himself to take a calming breath or two as he makes his way over to the sofa. _Just tell him what you practiced, and you’ll be fine_.  
  
He contemplates turning on the television for a moment, or maybe listening to some music on his phone while he waits, but instead of thumbing open his music player, he presses the voicemail button instead, switching to speakerphone as the first saved message begins to play.  
  
“ _Hey, Arch. Before you start thinking I’ve lost my mind, no, I haven’t forgotten that you’re about a million miles away right now…_ ”  
  
He skips to the next message, chewing listlessly at his bottom lip as it plays, the words so familiar now that he can nearly quote them.  
  
“ _Hey, Arch. It’s me. Uh, Cook. Though you prob’ly already knew that_.” He listens to it all, and, as always, his heart jumps at Cook’s declaration – “ _I’m in love with you. For years, I’ve been – I’ve wanted to tell you. Did you know that? Did you have any idea, Archie? How fucking gone I am over you?_ ”  
  
He loses track of everything save that voice, low and thick, the longing evident in every word. A longing for _him_ , and David feels his face warm as he slumps down against the plush sofa cushions. Surrounded by Cook’s voice and scent, he feels hot and aching and afraid – afraid that he’s too late, afraid that he’s lost his chance.  
  
Which is why, when the door lock beeps a few moments later and Cook steps inside, a welcoming grin alighting on his face when he sees David, the speech David had so carefully constructed in his head on the way here scatter like leaves in a breeze, and he can think of only one thing to do.  
  
“ _Hey, Arch. It’s me. Uh, Cook. Though you prob’ly already knew that_.” The message seems inordinately loud in the quiet of the room. Cook freezes by the doorway, eyes widening a fraction as he hears his own voice filtering from the phone cradled in David’s palm. “ _I – shit – I’m a – a fuckin’ idiot, Arch. I keep tellin’… telling myself that it was for the best, that I was doing the right thing by keeping my mouth shut, but. Christ. It was just me being a coward, Arch. Too chickenshit to tell you that I always – that I’ve always – **Fuck**_.”  
  
“Archie.” Recognition floods Cook’s eyes, his stunned, desperate gaze trained on David’s phone. He takes a half-step forward, speaking over his own voice. “Archie, cut it off.”  
  
David doesn’t. He stands up, crossing over the carpet toward Cook, who takes a stumbling step back at his approach. All the while, the recording plays on.  
  
“ _I’m in love with you_ ,” Cook’s voice spills from the speaker, thick and slurring at the edges. Cook looks like he’d like nothing more than to snatch the phone from David’s hands and toss it out the nearest window, his eyes flitting helplessly to and away from David’s face.  
  
David knows he’s scaring Cook, knows the rocker doesn’t know what to make of his silence, his blank face, but he needs Cook to listen, needs to be _sure_ –  
  
“ _Christ, I’m sorry, Archie. I should have told you. Even if it wouldn’t have made a difference, I should have told you. I should have –_ “  
  
The recording cuts off, and David powers down his phone with fingers that feel numb, not taking his eyes from Cook, whose skin has grown pale beneath his scruff.  
  
“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice soft and hoarse. His fingers shake as he tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans.  
  
“I – Archie… “ Cook’s throat works as he swallows, words failing him, and something like hope flutters to life in David’s chest. He’s never seen Cook like this, floundering for words, floundering for words because of _him_ , and it makes David think that – maybe –  
  
“Did you mean it?” he asks again, unyielding.  
  
Cook seems to fold beneath his gaze. “Yes,” he whispers, soft, almost like he’s ashamed.  
  
David swallows down the urge to comfort him, knowing that he needs to ask –  
  
“Do you still mean it?” There’s a tremble in his voice that he just can't hide, and Cook must catch it, must realize that David is not as together as he seems, because his gaze snaps to David’s face.  
  
“Archie, why are you asking me this?” he asks, and David drops his gaze, suddenly terrified to say anything more. He can barely concentrate past the rushing in his head, the throb of his pulse ringing in his ears.  
  
Cook’s fingers slide under his chin and lift his head, and David finds is captured, instantly, by that gentle, inquiring gaze.  
  
“Do you still mean it?” he asks again, voice nearly a whisper.  
  
Something falls into place behind Cook’s eyes, the fear retreating, fading away in the wake of cautious, wavering _hope_. “I never stopped,” he rasps, voice thick. “David – “  
  
David doesn’t give him a chance to say anything more, just launches himself into Cook’s arms and holds on tight. “Me too,” he says, voice muffled against Cook’s collar, fingers clenching in Cook’s jacket. “ _Me too_ , Cook.” He wants to explain himself, wants to tell Cook that he’s always – that there’s always been something between them, he was just too scared to say anything, but if Cook feels it, too – if Cook _wants_ it, too –  
  
Cook’s arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, holding David tight, and David knows that Cook understands.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [PDA](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746150) by [Spikedluv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv)




End file.
